


When Love Isn't Enough

by Ironkhaleesi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Heart, F/M, I cried writing this, seriously wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironkhaleesi/pseuds/Ironkhaleesi
Summary: Dean shows up on your doorstep beaten and bloodied. You let him in - no questions asked - just like you always do. But after having broken up two years prior, these little visits are starting to take a toll. You're forced to ask yourselves why you keep holding on to each other the way you do.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester showing up on your doorstep beaten and bloodied was not the most surprising thing to happen. In fact, after the first time, you started keeping your first aid kit and whiskey stash stocked just for the occasion. 

He gave you an apologetic smile when you opened the door and took in his dirty demeanour with a sigh. You said nothing. Just pressed your lips together and opened your front door wider to let him in. 

He kissed your temple as he walked past – a habit he’d never been able to break, even after the two of you separated. You closed your eyes and let him. If you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t a habit you wanted him to break. 

You closed the door and leaned your head against it for a moment as you listened to him bustle about your kitchen. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, for a second it sounded like he was trying to make you dinner after a long day at work.

But fantasy always fell victim to reality, and at the sound of the first aid kit opening, your fantasy shattered to pieces. You reminded yourself that this was why you and Dean broke up in the first place. He never could make good on the fantasies he fed you.

With another sigh, you turned from the front door and walked into the kitchen. He sat beside the island, the first aid kit and whiskey ready and waiting. He was pouring himself a glass and the closer you got to him the stronger the smell got. 

You used to love the smell of whiskey. Until Dean Winchester broke your heart. 

The stronger the smell got the heavier your feet felt. And then he looked up at you and suddenly you couldn’t move them further.

He set aside the glass and let his eyes sweep over you. He studied your face like you were a piece of art on display in a gallery. That look used to make you feel beautiful. Now, it just reminded you of all the things the two of you once shared. All the memories that were now tainted with the fantasy of a life he would never give you. 

“Do you want to take a shower first?” you said with a pointed look at his dirty clothes.

He glanced down at them and shook his head. “No, I’ve, uh … I got stabbed. In the shoulder, I mean. It’ll start bleeding again if I shower.”

You nodded. “Right. So … no point.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. It sounded hollow, and the smile fell away quickly. 

He glanced down at his hands and you wondered if he regretted what happened between the two of you. You wondered that all the time, really. 

The fact that he always came to you when he was hurt and fighting with Sammy just proved that he wasn’t over you. And the fact that you always let him in proved you weren’t over him either. So didn’t it make sense that he would regret how it ended? 

You did.

“Show me,” you said as you closed the gap between the two of you.

Instinctually, he spread his thighs open to let you step between them. You didn’t.

“What?” he said.

“The stab wound.”

“Right.” 

Dean shrugged out of his jacket. You could feel him glance at your face as he pulled off the layers but you made sure to keep focused on his torso. You knew exactly what you would see in his eyes, and it wasn’t something that you wanted to face. 

Once he pulled his shirt off over his head, you stepped between his thighs to examine the make-shift patch he’d put over the wound. It was covered in dried blood. 

Pressing your lips together in disapproval of his hack job, you peeled the bandage back and tossed it onto the counter. 

You wasted no time in going about cleaning the wound. Mostly because you needed to focus on something that wasn’t Dean. But when you felt his breath tease the baby hairs at your hairline you realised that was going to be near impossible.

In an effort to break the intimacy you said, “You can do this yourself, you know.”

“I know.”

You glanced up at him, realised he was still watching your face, and looked back down. 

“Then why do you always come here?” you said. 

“Same reason you always let me in.”

You looked up at him again and didn’t bother looking away when your eyes locked that time. To this day you always marvel at how pretty his eyes looked. How out of place they seemed in his rough features and yet they fit perfectly at the same time. 

And his freckles. 

They were fading with age but you always used to count them anyway. You never got past ten before he’d kiss you and tell you that no one ever looked at him the way you did.  
Your eyes dropped to his parted lips and you realised his breath didn’t smell like whiskey. You wondered why he hadn’t started drinking yet. Then his fingers brushed against your hips and all thought of whiskey went out the window. 

You could see it in his face. How badly he wanted to kiss you in that moment. But he wouldn’t. It was one of the conditions you’d had if he wanted to keep visiting you like this. He wasn’t allowed to make any sort of move on you. 

You hadn’t counted on it being just as difficult for you. 

A loud vibration sounded from the counter and you jumped, thankful you hadn’t started stitching. 

“Sorry,” you said as you pulled back and reached for your mobile. “It’s probably my date.”

It was a low blow. You knew that. During these visits neither of you ever talked about other people that you might be seeing, but you needed to remind him and yourself that you were indeed seeing other people. 

“You have a date tonight?” Dean said. His voice was gruff, almost accusing. 

“Yes, Dean. I have a date. We’ve been separated for two years now. I think I’m entitled to that. Although, he’s an hour late so I’m guessing this is him blowing me off.”  
Dean scoffed. “You deserve better than that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I thought the same thing about you the day I left.”

 

His head jerked back. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and finally downed the glass of whiskey that had been sitting on the bench before filling it again.

A sigh escaped your lips as you scratched at your forehead. “Sorry. That was cruel.”

He nodded. “A little bit, yeah. You always had a quick mouth and no filter when you were pissed. But then … I was always the one pissing you off.”

You dragged your bottom lip through your teeth. “Only at the end. We were happy before that.”

He downed the glass of whiskey again but didn’t bother refilling it. “So what’s the jerk got to say for himself?” he said as he nodded towards your phone.

You looked down at where you’d been twisting it in your hands. “Oh. Right.” You scoffed as you read the message. “Wow. Guess karma just bit me in the ass.” You looked up at Dean as a smile curled your lips. “I just got dumped because his wife came back into town.”

“Seriously? Wow. That’s, uh …”

“Yeah,” you said as you put your phone down. “And this whole time I thought he was secretly gay.”

Dean gave you a confused frown and laughed. “And you dated him anyway?”

You shrugged. “No chance of getting hurt.”

The smile fell from his lips but he covered it up by licking them. “Right. So you’re, uh, dating jerks now?”

You smiled despite the jab. “Guess it’s my flavour of the month.”

A smirk curled one corner of his mouth and his eyes lit up like lights on Christmas. It still made your stomach flutter when he looked at you like that. 

“Yeah? What flavour was I?” he said.

You lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and leaned against the counter. “I don’t know. The one that got away?”

The smile fell from his face again but his eyes stayed soft and bright. “I never ‘got away’, Y/N. You walked away, remember?”

You shook your head and crossed your arms. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

He frowned. “Are you kidding me? You had every choice in the damn world.”

“No, you didn’t give me a choice, Dean. You gave me an ultimatum.” 

He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip in irritation and looked out your kitchen window into the dark. 

You let out a humourless laugh and pushed off the bench. Your hands fell back to your sides and your voice was soft as you said, “We always talked about getting out of the hunting life. Having a family and a home. But the moment I was ready for it you chickened out. Said that was never the life you wanted.”

“Yeah, well, if you wanted a picket fence and a dog maybe you should have dated Sam. You woulda been a perfect fit,” he said. 

His voice was as soft as yours when he said it. It made you realise just how tired the two of you had become. How tired you were of fighting with each other. 

“Maybe you’re right. But we’ll never know now. After all, I did turn him down for you.”

“What?” Dean snapped.

You frowned. “He said you knew.”

“Knew what?”

You sighed. “Relax. It was before we stated dating. He asked me out but by that time I was already head over heels for you.”

He ran a hand over his mouth and seemed to relax, though you knew it was something he’d bring up with Sammy at a later date.

You jerked your chin towards his shoulder. “The wound’s not deep. You won’t need stitches after all. I’ll set up the spare bedroom while you have a shower.”

He nodded and stood from the stool. Once again, he kissed your temple as he passed you. And once again, you closed your eyes and imagined you were in a fantasy world.

A minute ticked by, and it felt like the longest minute of your life as your shoulders shook and tears rolled down your cheeks. 

“Why do we keep doing this to each other?” 

You jumped and turned at the sound of Dean’s voice to find that he’d been standing there at the doorway, just staring at you.

“Doing what?” you said as you sniffed and wiped at your tears. 

He spread his hands out to the side, a hopeless look on his face as he watched you. “This. I show up. We either fight or remember why we fell in love in the first place and then … and then we just go our separate ways again without even saying goodbye. Then weeks, sometimes months, later I show up … and we do it all again.”

You took three slow steps towards him before you answered, “Because we’re still in love with each other.”

“But love isn’t enough for you now, is it?”

You gave him a sad smile and closed the space so you could lean up and kiss his cheek. “I think we both know it’s not enough for you either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got more fics at iavengesuperwholock.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't take living on the outskirts of your life anymore. He finally brings up the conversation the two of you had been dreading and forces the both of you to make a decision and move forward.

Dean woke, and for one moment he felt complete bliss. Your scent surrounded him, and he reached across his bed to wrap his arm around you. 

You weren’t there.

His bliss came crashing down around him as he remembered the night before. With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The sound of pots and pans banging around sounded through your home. 

Once upon a time, it could have been his home too. If he’d just given you what he’d promised – just realised that you were more important to him than hunting – he wouldn’t be waking up in your spare bedroom on the verge of tears. He’d be waking up in your bed – his bed – thinking about how lucky he was to have you. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget that he’d be sneaking out in five minutes, not knowing when he’d get to see you again. He forgot about the facts and instead pretended that you were making him breakfast. 

You were dressed in one of his flannels. It was too big for you but you only did up the button over your breasts so it would fall off your shoulder in that way that Dean liked. You’d smile at him when he walked into the kitchen. A blush would spread across your cheeks when he kissed you and told you how beautiful you were. He could always make you blush. 

A tear fell down Dean’s cheek and he snapped back to reality. 

When he went downstairs you wouldn’t be wearing his flannel. You wouldn’t smile at him. And you wouldn’t blush if he kissed you. 

The rule was, he wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye. He just had to walk out without a word. So that’s what he did. 

Or at least … he tried to. 

When he went to walk past the kitchen to the front door he made the mistake of looking at you. You had your back to him. You were wearing a flannel shirt. 

For a brief moment, his heart swelled up with hope. He took a step into the kitchen. He willed you to turn around and smile at him. Maybe his fantasy was coming true. 

You turned and his entire body deflated. You didn’t smile at him, and the flannel wasn’t his. 

You stopped mid-motion – salt shaker in hand. 

“Dean. You’re not meant to be here.”

It was a knife straight through his heart. 

There was a time when his place in the world was right by your side. Those days were long gone. Now, he wasn’t meant to be anywhere near you. What kind of a world was that? Where he wasn’t allowed in the same house as the woman he loved. 

Dean swallowed and nodded as his eyes dropped to the ground. “Right. Sorry, I, uh …” His eyes flicked back up to you and he wasn’t sure whether to take a step forward or back. 

It was funny how something that once felt so natural could become the toughest decision you could ever make. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he finally said. 

‘Needed’ was what he really meant but Dean had never told you how he really felt so why start then. 

He watched as you drew in a deep breath and set the salt shaker down on the bench. You stared at it too long. Let your fingers slide back from it too long. He knew you were thinking of a way to get rid of him without hurting his feelings.

Even after all this time, he could still read you like a book. The most painful part was he knew no one could ever know you like he did, and yet one day he would have to watch you fall in love with someone who would never figure out if you were really mad, or just faking it for affection. 

But Dean would know. 

He would sit there and watch your eyebrows furrow, and while your partner at the time would stand there thinking he’d done something wrong, Dean would know you just needed him to hug you from behind and kiss your neck until you smiled. 

Before you could come up with the right words – before you could kick him out of the home that should have been his – he nodded his head towards the flannel you were wearing. 

“What guy did you steal that from?” He tried to smile as he said it. Never had smiling been so hard before. 

You looked down at the flannel and tugged at the hem with a shrug. It fell off one shoulder and Dean’s entire body ached at the sight. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could pretend nothing had changed. That the last two years hadn’t happened. 

“I bought it for myself,” you said.

His eyes lifted to your face and he was sure you could see the pain his eyes. Because he could see it in yours and you only ever felt his pain. 

“I, um … after I gave your flannels back to you ...” you shrugged again and stared down at the ground, “I guess I just always regretted not keeping one.”

Dean stopped overthinking it. He stopped agonising over every move he wanted to make. He stopped worrying about ruining what you now had. And why should he? The two of you didn’t have anything anymore. You were both just hanging on to memories and torturing yourselves by staying in each other’s lives.

So really, what did Dean have to lose?

With renewed confidence, he dropped his duffel bag to the ground and entered the kitchen completely. He even went as far as to walk right up to you. Without a word, he shrugged out of his own flannel and set it on your bench. 

He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was doing.

You slid your hand across the bench and brushed your fingers across the edge of the flannel. Dean held his breath as he watched you. Then you clenched your hand in the material and pulled it to your chest. 

“What are you doing Dean? The rules –”

“Screw the damn rules.” 

You looked up at him but said nothing. That only spurred Dean on.

“We are two people just … just crazy in love. Two people that can’t be together. And yet we can’t let go of each other. Even when we don’t talk for months we’re still apart of each other’s lives. You wear flannels to bed and keep whiskey in your cupboard. I still carry your picture around and buy the shampoo you always use.”

You looked away from him and pulled the flannel closer to your face. He could see you were trying not to cry. You never liked crying in front of him. You never liked hurting him. 

He brushed his fingers against your jaw. Forced you to look up at him. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Y/N,” he said. His heart broke as your face crumbled at those words but he pushed on because this was something that had to be said. “I can’t live without you … but I can’t do this, either. I can’t keep mementos of you around the bunker only to treat you like a stranger when I finally get to see you.”

You sniffed. “So, what? You’re not going to come here anymore?”

His brow furrowed in distress at your pain but he couldn’t help the sad smile that curled his lips up. “If I could walk away from you, don’t you think I would have done that by now?”

“Then what are you saying, Dean?”

He swallowed. Hard. This was the moment that could change everything. It could ruin his life … or make it the best damn one he’d ever lived. 

“I’m saying we need to make a change. I can’t live without you but I can’t live on the outskirts of your life either.”

You shook your head and took a step back from him as a tear fell down your cheek. “No, Dean. No. The – the rules are there for a reason. They’re – they’re – they’re –”

“Y/N –”

“Shut up.” You threw his flannel back at him. He caught it and pressed his lips together. “How could you do this to me? After all this time. After all the pain. You – you want to put me through it again? Put us through it again?”

Dean clenched his fists in his flannel and realised how stupid he’d been to think he had nothing left to lose. He still had you.

That meant he had everything to lose.

He flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip before scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “You can’t stand there and tell me that this is what you want.”

“Of course I don’t want this,” you said. Your voice was broken. You looked like you’d fought a hundred wars. “I never wanted to leave you in the first place. But this? This is all we have, Dean. This is the aftermath … the remnants of something that was never meant to be.”

Dean blinked back tears and let his hands fall to his sides in defeat. The flannel hung from his hand. 

“But …” you trailed off and Dean looked back to you. That evil little thing called hope burrowed its way into his mind. “You were right. Something needs to change. And if neither of us can walk away then we should start by … maybe you should start by eating breakfast before you leave. And maybe this time you can say goodbye.”

His lips were pressed against your temple in seconds. The flannel was back on the bench and he had no intention of leaving with it. 

He threaded his fingers through your hair and hoped that one day he wouldn’t have to close his eyes to see his fantasy life. One day he’d just have to roll over in bed and you’d be right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got more fics at iavengesuperwholock.tumblr.com


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